Dead
by bonesandbenedict
Summary: What happened in those two weeks between Booth's "death" and his "funeral"? Rated T just in case.
1. Chapter 1: Cold

**You know how you suddenly have an idea for something to write and your muse is like "write it now or you will lose it forever MWAHAHAHA"? Sadly, I thought of this while sitting in a freezing cold restaurant with my family and I couldn't write it immediately, so it's not exactly how I imagined it. Hope you like it anyway!**

**This is really, really short. Just to get things kicked off. I'm going to upload this along with the next chapter so you'll have enough reading material, don't worry ;)**

**This story is going to be about the two weeks between Booth's "death" and his "funeral", except for this chapter, which takes place right after "Patriot in the Purgatory", on the same night when it ends. (BTW, Emily's acting was so amazing in that scene, OMFG)**

**Reviews are beautifully welcome and I love all of you who take the time to write any!**

**Dicslaimer: Nope. Still don't have Brennan or Booth or Bones in my possession.**

**Soon.**

**This might be longer than the actual chapter.**

**Oops.**

* * *

_Booth, you're going to be fine. I'm here. Come on, you can do this, You're gonna be fine you're gonna make this come on come on Booth come on you're gonna make this come on you can do this come on Booth it's gonna be fine come on come on Booth no come on come on come on_

Brennan awoke with a start. Her heart was pounding and she was drenched in sweat. Slivers of the dream still clung to her consciousness and it took her a moment to remember where she was and adjust to her surroundings.

Her bed.

Her house.

Their house.

It was just a dream.

Brennan lay there for a moment, breathing heavily. Then she turned to her side and saw the sleeping figure next to her, his chest rising and falling peacefully.

He was alive.

Like it should be.

Everything was fine.

She realized that she was shivering, both from fear and cold. Booth had, as usual, turned in his sleep and all the blankets were on his side, and the window was open, letting in a cool breeze that swept over her, cooling her sweat and making it even colder. She could hear the rain pattering outside, smell the wet earth. Her hands and toes were freezing.

Everything was fine.

Brennan crawled over to Booth's side of the bed and got under the blankets. Booth instinctively turned over to her. His heat enveloped her and she immediately felt better. Brennan snuggled in next to him, wrapping her hands around his back to warm them against him and lay her head against his bare chest. She hugged him tightly. His breath was on her hair, in her ear. She smelled his Boothy smell. Toothpaste and soap and sleep and pressed shirts. His leg rested on hers.

She hugged him tighter.

"Bones, your hands are freezing." He murmured sleepily.

No response. Booth raised his head to look at her.

"You okay?"

Nothing.

"Bones?" Booth supported himself up with his elbow to get a better look of his partner. She looked up at him, a panicked look in her eyes. She shook her head. She was not okay.

"Hey, you're shaking." Booth hugged her and kissed her forehead, and then pressed his nose to hers.

"Everything's fine now, okay? It was just a dream."

Brennan nodded. Tears stung her eyes. She buried her head in his shoulder.

"Thank you for not being dead." She mumbled into his chest.

"You're welcome." He stroked her hair, twisting it between his fingers.

Everything was fine.


	2. Chapter 2: Red

**So this is pretty heart-wrenching. It was hard for me to write it. Brought back all the early seasons feels.**

**If there is something medically incorrect, please let me know and I'll fix it, I am not an expert on the subject.**

**Written in Brennan's POV, which I hope works, because I almost always write in the third person.**

**Reviews are beautifully welcome!**

**Disclaimer: If I ever get a 3D printer I'll print myself a Booth and a Brennan and these won't be needed anymore.**

* * *

"Booth, you're going to be fine."

Red.

"I'm here. Come on, you can do this."

So much red.

"You're gonna be fine, you're gonna make this."

I shake him. He stares up at me, wide eyed.

"Come on, come on, Booth"

The blood seeps through my fingers. I press my hands harder to his chest. This just makes the blood flow increase. Now it is pooling around us.

"Come on, you're gonna make this. Come on you can do this come on Booth it's gonna be fine come on come on Booth no come on come on come on."

His eyes close.

"No! Booth! Stay with me! Booth!" I scream, shaking him. My hands are covered in his blood. His eyes don't open. Now Cam and Hodgins are pulling me back. I kick and claw at them, screaming at them that we need to do something, stop the blood flow.

So much red.

They drag me away and hand me over to Zach and Angela. Hodgins takes my place over Booth's body, pressing his palms against his chest. Just like I did.

Why can't I do this?

He's my partner. I need to be the one saving him.

Angela hugs me hard to her. She's crying. So am I, I just noticed.

The Paramedics are already here, quickly hoisting Booth up into the gurney and rushing out.

Silence.

Only the six of us in the bar.

Zach and Sweets stand there, stunned. Angela is still crying on my shoulder. Hodgins goes over to Angie and replaces my shoulder with his. Cam runs after the Paramedics and insists that she goes with them. An argument is ensued. Cam wins. I can see her getting into the ambulance and it driving off.

All of this happened in less than ten minutes.

How did we get from singing and laughing and clapping to this in less than ten minutes?

Only now do I realize that everyone is assuming that Booth is dead.

"Guys, we need to go to the hospital." I say.

"Dr. B." Hodgins says soflty.

"No! We need to get to the hospital and talk to Cam and the doctors. He's going to be fine."

"Dr. Brennan." Hodgins says my name again, this time a bit louder. Why is he saying my name again? Is he trying to hint something?

"No! No! Come on, let's go! He could still be alive. He's still alive!"

"Dr. Brennan." This time it's Zach. "Look at the blood on the floor. That's at least 2.3 liters. There is a very slim chance that Agent Booth-"

"Zach!" Angie says sharply. He stops mid-sentence.

"We're going to the hospital." I declare, jutting out my chin. I step outside the bar and head towards the car. They all follow me, defeated.

We're going to the hospital.

"Brennan!" Hodgins yells after me. I turn to face him. In the dark I can see only the dark stains of Booth's blood on his clothing. Booth's blood. The blood that should be in his body, circling in his system. Making his lungs inflate and deflate, bringing in oxygen for his brain. Making his kidneys filter the waste, his liver remove toxins, his stomach digest his food.

Make his heart beat.

"I'm going to the hospital. You can either come with me or stay here, I don't care, but you can't stop me. If you try I will break your leg and you will have to go to the hospital anyway, and I won't be the one sending you flowers." I say.

Angela, Zach, and Sweets stand behind him. They know it's best not to interfere. Hodgins sighs.

"I'm driving." He says.

We all pile into my car and drive over to the hospital, bringing on the longest night of my life.

* * *

The last few hours were long and exhausting and terrifying.

When we got to the hospital, Sweets (who hasn't said anything the whole ride) went up to the front desk and asked about Booth. Half-an hour later a doctor with dark blue scrubs and a face that looked like it belonged to a dog came up to where we were sitting and explained Booth's condition. Cam was in surgery with them. He's lost a lot of blood, but they're doing everything they can to repair the tear in his heart.

Then we sat around for another hour. Everyone else brought up Booth memories as if he was already dead. I took no participation in this, finding it upsetting and unnecessary. After going to the bathroom to get cleaned up (messy hair, messy clothes, messy everything. I washed the blood off my hands but some of it was stuck under my fingernails. Nothing I could do about that) I sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs in the lobby and listened to the other's conversation.

At some point Hodgins went to get coffees and sandwiches for everyone. I drank the coffee but didn't touch my egg-salad sandwich. I had no appetite. Angela offered to drive me home so that I could take a shower and get changed (even though it was my car) but I refused to leave. So she took my keys and drove over to my apartment to get me a spare change of clothes, returning half an hour later with a pair of jeans, a green t-shirt and a jacket. I changed in the bathroom, throwing my blood-soaked clothes in the trash. There was no way I could wear them after tonight.

I spent the next hour curled up in my chair in the corner and drifting in and out of a light sleep filled with nightmares.

Two and a half hours after the dog-faced doctor talked to us, Cam walked out. She looked very tired, her eyes red. She explained that Booth is not getting any better. They were able to find the tear but were having a hard time closing it since it was in a difficult place to get to. At that point the surgeon told Cam that she wasn't needed anymore, basically throwing her out of the OR, so she joined us.

I knew that Cam was Booth's oldest friend. This was probably much harder for her than it was for me. Still, I kept thinking about what would happened if Booth would die. So many things unsaid.

I remembered those long hours with Hodgins in the buried car. I kept thinking how if I didn't get out of there, Booth would never know how much I loved him.

In a professional, friendly way, of course. Which was why I wrote that letter.

And how wonderful it was to open my eyes and brush away the sand and dust and see his face smiling down at me.

I remembered sitting with him at the diner, talking and bickering over nothing and everything for hours on end, even though we had much better things to do.

I remembered how concerned he was in that case in New Orleans that went wrong. How he tipped my head with his finger on my chin and inspected me, looking for any other bruises.

I remembered all those nights at my apartment after a successful case, eating take-out and drinking beer and listening to him whine about how I should get a television already.

I remembered all those times where I would look at him only to find he was already looking at me, and then quickly averting his eyes as if he was just caught doing something wrong.

I remembered the times when I was upset about my father or Russ or just about a case, how he would know how to say the exact right thing, or when a hug was all that was needed.

I remembered how safe I felt in his arms.

All that was two hours ago. Now the dog-faced doctor walks towards us. He keeps his head down, avoiding eye-contact. He's frowning, which makes him look even more canine. He stops in front of us. Takes off his glasses, wiping them with his coat. Even before he opens his mouth I know what is coming.

"I'm so very sorry to inform you that Agent Booth- well, the damage was too extent. We did everything that we-"

"What do you mean?" I ask, cutting him off mid-sentence. I want him to say it.

"Brennan." Angela says softly. So many people are saying my name for no reason today.

"What? I want him to say it." I need him to say it. To be absolutely sure. I'm not willing to accept this. Unless this doctor, who I'm sure is qualified for his job but no more than that, tells me straight out exactly what he means.

The doctor shifts his feet, clearly uncomfortable. He clears his throat, puts his glasses back on.

"Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth is dead." He says. Clears his throat again.

"I'm very sorry for your loss." He walks away.

_Dead_

The words echo in my head.

_Agent Booth is dead_

Without a word, I stand up and walk out of the hospital lobby. Someone calls out after me. I don't turn around. The cold air outside hits me like a brick wall.

_Dead_

I start running, I don't know where. I just run. Run and run and run until I can't run anymore, until my chest and throat hurt and I'm gasping for air, which burns in my lungs. I stop where I am. Hot tears in my eyes, on my cheeks, down my shirt. People are coming up to me, asking if I'm okay, if I need to call someone.

I'm not okay.

I'll never be okay.

Booth is dead.


	3. Chapter 3: Alone

**Hello dear fanfic readers! I'm sorry I haven't updated this in a while, I had a c-r-a-z-y week and I didn't have any time to write, plus my muse was like "lol no". I promise the next chapter will be here soon!**

**Reviews are always welcome, and thank you so much for the last ones! They keep me motivated that someone actually reads this. xoxo**

* * *

The last hour is fuzzy and I don't remember most of it. I think that at some point Angela found me standing in the middle of the street in the pouring rain, sobbing and out of breath, and took me home. Now I'm in my bed, listening to the rain that hasn't stopped yet hitting my window-pane. My hair is still wet and the pillow is damp from it, making it uncomfortable and chilly. My apartment has never felt so empty.

Before I finished college I had never lived alone before. Up to now it was my childhood house, foster homes full of noisy children, and living in college with two other roommates who disliked me, probably because I didn't care about all the things they did, like good-looking boys or nail polish or who's dating who.

I love living alone. This way I can organize my things knowing that know-one will move them, eat whenever I like, never have to bother with leaving hot water for someone else's shower. It is peaceful this way, quiet. And if it gets too quiet I have my music and my work.

Right now I wish I had someone to share my apartment with.

Before I met Booth, my life had a daily routine that never changed; Get up early, go to the lab, work for five hours, have lunch, occasionally with Angela, work for another five, go home, work some more, write, go to sleep, get up again. But after we started working together, I left the lab and my apartment for longer, working in the field. For once, I didn't have only Angela's company for meals.

Booth made me see that there are more sides to things, even if you don't see them at first, and that looking closer is so worth it. He helped me understand things that I couldn't or wouldn't understand before. He was kind and warm and caring and tough and strong and wonderful. And he's gone. It is hard for me to fully grasp the concept that I will never see him again. Never hear him calling me Bones, that I secretly loved, never feel his hand on my back, steering me to the car, never look up and see his cocky smile. It's only been a few hours since his death, and I hate it. I hate this world in which Seeley Booth doesn't exist.

* * *

I wake up suddenly to my phone going off. It's seven in the morning, and I only got a few hours of fitful sleep. The phone continues to make its awful sound, and I roll out of bed and pad barefoot over to my living room and pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Brennan?" It's Angela. Her voice is sore, probably from crying.

"Hey Ange."

A pause.

"Did you get any sleep?' She asks. I consider lying, but then decide against it. It is unnecessary at the moment.

"Barely."

"Yeah." I hear her sigh.

"Ange-" I start, but she cuts me off.

"Do you want me to come over?" She asks. I know she wants us to talk about what happened. She wants us to hug and cry and reminiscence about Booth and cry some more. I don't.

"No, I think I'd rather be alone."

"Okay, well you know I'm here."

"I know. Thanks Angela." I hang up.

I spend the next hours reading and writing and catching up on paper-work and drinking too much coffee, not leaving the apartment or my sweat-pants. The grief comes in waves, just when I'm least expecting it, although I have no more tears to shed. Angela called again in the afternoon and she came over. I knew she would have to at some point. I have to be there for her too.

Angela brought take-out but neither of us really had the appetite for it, so it's now sitting on my coffee table, growing cold.

"How are you doing?" Angela asks.

"I'm… sad. But I'm okay. People die, I will move on." I take a sip of my soda.

Angela raises an eyebrow.

"What?"

"What do you mean "you'll move on"? Last night you lost someone you love. It's not that simple. I wish it was."

"I didn't love Booth." I say. I was getting enough of that from Sweets.

"Yes, you did. Don't argue with me. Even if it wasn't in a _love_ love way. It's okay to feel things, sweetie. Nothing will happen if you do."

I turn to her, suddenly angry.

"But things _do_ happen if I feel things, Angela! Over and over again. I get attached and then people_ die._ Just like Booth did. I let my guard down and I got _hurt, _just like always, and I'm tired of it. It's not worth it. I'd rather spend sixteen hours at the lab every day leaning over bones-" My voice breaks. "Because the dead can't hurt me."

"Really? You think it wasn't all worth it? All that time you _did_ get to have with Booth? You would rather have not met him at all?"

"No." I say weakly. "I'm glad I met him."

I choke back tears.

"He was such a good man."

"I'm so sorry, Brennan." Angela says, and I lean my head on her shoulder. She hugs me tightly.

"I just… I miss him so much." I whisper.

"I know. We all do."

I don't know what I would do without Angela.


End file.
